


Nothing but your cologne

by ethos



Series: only human [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Banter, Cologne, Episode: s03e13 Deja Q, Human!Q, Humor, M/M, Scents & Smells, Sonic Showers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethos/pseuds/ethos
Summary: Q needs a lesson in proper hygiene. Picard begrudgingly takes up the task.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Series: only human [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770418
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Nothing but your cologne

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Cologne" by Selena Gomez.

Q reeks.

It’s less than a week since Q lost his powers, and Picard can’t think of anything else.

Q absolutely _reeks_.

During the first couple days, the smell wasn’t horrible; it was pleasant, even, in a way: a mix of musk and salt with only the slightest tinge of something sinister brewing beneath the surface.

Two days later and the smell has evolved into something else entirely--something that's become impossible to ignore.

It’s so strong, it snaps Picard out of his own thoughts, mid-sentence, creating all sorts of problems during briefings. It’s so strong, Picard can now discern Q’s relative position in the hall before he even rounds the corner.

At first Picard expects someone else-- _anyone else_ \--to explain hygiene to Q. Dr. Crusher, Troi, even Data. He has a nose, too.

The short-sightedness of this expectation becomes apparent when nothing changes. The smell only gets worse, becomes almost palpable to all senses.

Hygiene is something explained to children, not full-grown men. That's the reality of the situation. _That's_ what Picard should’ve realized and accepted sooner, before the situation reached its current, affronting state.

They are riding in the turbolift alone with each other, and Picard keeps throwing pointed glares in Q's direction. It's not completely his fault. In the twenty seconds they’ve been trapped together, Q’s natural stench has permeated the entire lift. It is something else--a sour mix of sweat and old clothes and odors Picard doesn't want to name.

It makes his eyes water. He's becoming truly afraid the stench might stick to the fabric of his uniform and follow him around the rest of the day. He’ll have to stop by his quarters and replicate a new one.

The ridiculousness of that thought is too much to handle.

Picard clears his throat. Braces himself for a direct question. “Q, are you showering?”

Q throws him an incredulous look. “No...?”

“Computer, halt turbolift.”

The lift stops with only a minor jerk, and Picard turns to face Q. “You’re human now. You need to shower.”

Q folds his arms across his chest, leans against the wall. “Who do you think I am, Jean-Luc? I _tried_.” He shudders. “The sonic shower is absolutely _dreadful_. I have no idea why you decided to put those things onboard. All the vibrations. The nudity. It makes me feel so…exposed.”

“I didn’t _decide_ to put anything--” Picard stops himself. Another time. “You are a member of this ship now, Q. That means you’re often in close confines with other people.” He motions around the turbolift. “Take now, for example. We are three feet apart, yet I can still smell you. Quite frankly, you stink.”

“I stink, do I?” Q sounds almost hurt. “All you wretched humans stink. It’s not my fault.”

This is completely futile, Picard realizes with dismay, but he pushes forward anyway. “Yes, humans excrete various odors, most of them unpleasant. We mitigate these odors by showering, changing our clothes, and applying scents to our bodies.”

With a frustrated noise, Q collapses further against the wall and throws his hands up in the air. Dramatic as always, with the added effect of exacerbating his stench. Picard makes a face.

“I don’t know how you mortals do it,” Q says. “Constantly _mitigating_ yourselves. You are truly slaves to your bodies. It's pathetic, I tell you.”

“Yes, we are,” Picard agrees, just to move on. “And you’re one of us now, so you need to do your due diligence and keep your odors at bay. Would you like me to help you?”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Mostly he regrets the phrasing, but he’d very well like to yank the offer back, too. Truthfully, he has no real idea on how to help Q do anything, let alone help him with the subject of basic hygiene.

Q looks at him sharply, his mouth forming a sly smile. “Help me? Help me _shower?_ Oh, _mon capitaine!_ ”

“I can give you some cologne samples,” Picard clarifies, feeling his ears beginning to redden. From anger or embarrassment, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. “Although cologne isn’t necessary. Many people forgo it. What you really need is a shower. I can show you how to properly use the controls, if you don’t already know.”

Q doesn’t let up. “You just want to see me naked!”

Picard balks at the accusation. “I have seen you naked, Q! Or have you already forgotten the time you dropped onto my bridge that way?” The memory causes the heat on Picard’s ears to creep down toward his face--why did he mention _that_ event?--and he turns away. “Forget it! There’s plenty of information on hygiene in our database if you care to go looking. Computer, resume turbolift.”

“Wait! Computer, no!” Q yelps, but the computer ignores his order in favor of Picard’s. Q pushes himself off the wall and moves in front of the door. “I’d love your help, Jean-Luc! Truth is, I haven't the slightest idea on how to work that dreadful thing.”

Picard searches Q’s face for any signs of deception, an endeavour that’s become second nature at this point, but Q looks sincere enough.

Sighing, Picard orders the turbolift to Q’s floor.

Ten minutes later and they're standing in Q’s washroom.

“I still don’t know why I have to alter my body for other people,” Q complains, slipping out of his jumpsuit. “It should be my choice.”

Picard averts his gaze from Q. Q is playing dumb, he thinks, because surely Q understands basic reason and civility; _surely_ he can’t be that obtuse, can’t be so self-centered as to not even consider something so simple.

Then again, Q might actually be that obtuse.

“It’s common courtesy,” Picard explains slowly, like he might to a child. “If your shipmates suddenly stopped showering, you’d certainly have some choice words--for decency’s sake, Q! Leave your underwear on!”

In the corner of Picard’s eye, Q pauses in his quest to shimmy down his underwear, revealing only the beginnings of two hip bones and a trail of hair. He throws up his hands. “My mistake, Jean-Luc! I thought the French were supposed to be progressive about these things.”

Picard rolls his eyes. He finally risks a look over when Q, clad only in his briefs, steps into the shower.

A mistake.

The sight of Q's near-nudity conjures up images Picard’s been making great efforts to forget.

The image of Q, completely naked and unabashed, smirking up at him from the Bridge’s floor. The image of Q standing up and straightening out, making no effort to cover himself. Q’s bare skin contrasting jarringly against the carpet. Q’s hands absentmindedly exploring himself while Picard yells at him.

At the time, Picard glanced him up and down--out of _necessity_ , he needed to know what was going on--and that was enough. That was all it took to burn Q’s naked form into his mind, forever, and the images keep coming back at the worst of times, despite all best efforts.

This situation certainly isn’t helping matters.

In need of a distraction, Picard quickly jumps into an overview of the sonic shower’s controls.

“A higher frequency will be more intense,” he explains to Q, turning the knob to demonstrate. Q flinches at the vibrations, and Picard shifts the knob backward. “You’ll probably prefer a lower level like this one. It’s more pleasant but less effective. The trick is finding balance.” He inches the knob forward again. “This is the setting I generally use.”

When Picard looks up, Q has his eyes closed and his head tilted thoughtfully. “Not too bad, I suppose, as sensations go.”

Pleased enough and more than ready to make his exit, Picard straightens up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“You’re leaving?” Q blinks at him. “Why?”

“I’m not going to stand here and watch you shower, Q.”

“Stay in my quarters, then. Somewhere close. I need you able to hear me in case I scream for help.”

Picard rolls his eyes at the suggestion-- _absurd!_ \--leaves without granting Q a response.

He’s learned over the past few days--over the past few years, really, but especially now--that it’s better to disengage with Q’s absurdities.

He doesn’t leave Q’s quarters, though. He has a meeting to prepare for, a new crew roster to inspect, but for some inane reason he doesn’t leave Q's quarters. Instead, he goes to the replicator and orders a selection of cologne samples.

He can’t answer as to why he does it. He really shouldn’t bother. Q won’t appreciate the effort, and it’s not his responsibility to play the role of cologne marketer to Q.

But it’s not his responsibility to make sure Q learns to shower, either, and somehow he’s managed to fall into that role.

As the replicator produces the first sample, Picard considers the uncomfortable possibility that perhaps it is his responsibility. Sort of. Arguably so. He’s allowed Q to stay aboard; rightly or wrongly, he fears it’s become his ethical duty to keep Q as little of a nuisance as possible.

He replicates a half-dozen scents he suspects Q might enjoy: natural scents, leaning toward the earthy and fruity side of things, nothing too invasive.

A few minutes later, Q emerges from the bathroom, wearing a fresh jumpsuit and combing his fingers through his hair. He looks at Picard with surprise. “Still here, Jean-Luc? I knew you liked me.”

Picard ignores that. “Would you like to sample some cologne?”

A smile spreads across Q’s face, jarringly genuine. “Anything for you.”

To Picard’s great relief, when Q leans next to him and sniffs suspiciously at the perfumes, he smells of nothing at all.

Q makes a face at each scent, murmuring complaints, before pausing at a bottle and smelling it twice. “Isn’t this what _you_ wear?”

Picard waits a beat before he answers. “It is, yes," he admits. "It’s an earthy cologne meant to mimic the scent of wood.”

Q wrinkles his nose. “ _Wood_ , of all things.”

It sounds like Q’s attempting an insult, and Picard frowns. “Pick one, replicate something else, or don’t wear any cologne at all,” he says. “It’s your choice, Q. I really don’t care as long as you regularly shower.”

“A high ask,” Q says. “Maybe if you're here to regularly monitor me…"

Picard doesn’t linger long enough for Q to finish that train of thought. He leaves without another word, feeling both satisfied and frustrated over his minor accomplishment with Q, both in control and completely lost.

He stops at the threshold to take one last look at Q, who's still sniffing tentatively at the bottles, before shaking his head and returning to work.

***

Later, Commander LaForge calls Picard down to Engineering for an update on the crew’s current project: maximizing the efficiency of the long range sensors. Picard understands the project hinges on Q’s assistance and newly available knowledge, arranged the conjunction himself, but he’s still surprised to find Q in the belly of Engineering, inspecting a viewscreen.

Q almost looks like a proper part of the science crew--diligent, occupied, so absorbed he doesn’t notice Picard’s entrance.

LaForge delves into an overview of the project. Things are looking promising, Q’s been difficult but overall helpful in the process, and LaForge thinks they’ll have the sensors updated by the end of the week.

Picard takes in the news as conscientiously as he can, admittedly distracted. Unprofessionally so. He keeps glancing over to Q's workstation, idly watching as Q sifts through information.

Picard can't quite help it. There’s something different about Q. Maybe the sonic shower cleaned up Q’s overall appearance, or maybe the shower happened to reinvigorate Q's exuberant demeanor; in either case, he looks better than Picard's seen in nearly a week.

He looks impassioned. Healthy.

When his conversation with LaForge concludes, Picard makes a choice and strides over to Q. He bends down to inspect the viewscreen, says sincerely next to Q’s ear, "You look nice, Q. I’m happy to note your smell is gone.”

Well, not _gone_. Changed. Closer to Q now, a waft of a familiar, woody smell hits Picard. It only takes a moment to realize it’s the smell of his own cologne.

Q starts suddenly at the intrusion. He settles back in his chair, cutting his eyes pointedly at Picard.

“Can’t you see I’m working here?” he says. “Or would you rather I _not_ implement the new sensor functions that will invariably save your little ship from future destruction?”

Under normal circumstances, Q’s false sense of importance might’ve annoyed Picard.

Under these circumstances, somewhat intoxicated with and still surprised by the presence of his own cologne, Picard laughs.

“I’m just checking in on you, Q,” he says. “My mistake. I’ll let you save the ship in peace.”

Q narrows his eyes. “What’s so funny, Picard?”

Picard almost tells him, immediately thinks better of it. With his luck, any mention of the cologne would send Q into a period of juvenile protest. Q might stop wearing it just to make a point, or he might choose to stop showering again. Better to play it safe.

“Nothing,” Picard answers instead. “You just smell pleasant.”

Q rolls his eyes. “I smell bad, you complain. I smell nice, you laugh.” He turns back to the viewscreen, for the first time in his life too preoccupied to engage. “You humans behave so erratically at the oddest of times. I should’ve picked something else for my punishment.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” Picard agrees.

Q makes a distracted sound, and Picard leaves him at that. Before stepping away, he pauses one last time to fully take in the woody cologne Q chose to wear: Picard’s cologne of choice; his favorite one.

Later, when he has too much free time and too many thoughts, Picard will contemplate the meaning of the gesture. For now, he appreciates it for what is. Pleasant.


End file.
